Till Black and White (Begins to Color in)
by moonlessmondays
Summary: Perhaps, there's a part of him that wonders why she hadn't been the one to tell him herself, and he thinks that this had been shittier than perhaps just leaving a note or sending him a text, but he knows her, but he knows how intricate her mind is and that despite knowing her for twenty two out of his twenty five years, he's never really understood how she operates. Modern AU


**welcome to my first Falice Multichap! Hope you all like it. I just want to inform everyone that this is complete AU.**  
It is set during the current year where our beloved Riverparents are in their midtwenties and while I will be keeping some aspects of the characters, I might be changing the backstories a little and there will be times they will appear ooc.

Anywayyy, on with the show. This is for my bby bubs Corinna Matilda. And my many thanks to thextremefangirl for checking it over!

 **Chapter** **One**

There isn't really much that surprises Forsythe Pendleton Jones II.

Life has been kind to him in that way, at least, and he can honestly say that in his twenty-five years of existence, he's seen nearly everything there is to see in life. He doesn't put much stock on anything, knowing how easily anything and everything can disappear with a blink of an eye.

Gone...with the wind, just like that. Nothing is permanent, after all, and forever is just another creation of the human mind to give more value into things that mean very little.

And so he hasn't really been surprised when Fred Andrews, of all people, had broken the news to him. It hadn't been out of spite—of course it isn't, Fred Andrews is capable of a lot, but spite isn't his strongest suit—and he'd seen the concern in his friend's eyes when he'd told him. Again, he hadn't been surprised, couldn't really be after all these years.

After all, if there is anyone who knows _her_ better, it's _him_ , and he'd known and had accepted a long time ago that this is where it's leading to.

"She's well...she's", there is an awkward pause, and Fred had shuffled in his feet, twitching which is a good indication that he's nervous, "She's...she's engaged, man," he'd said in a soft voice, his eyes peering at him in that doe-like way that makes him uncomfortable.

Fred had not needed to tell him who _she_ is for FP to guess right away. He'd initially bristled at the almost pitying tone in his friend's voice. It's not really a big deal, after all, and truly, it doesn't matter.

Perhaps, there's a part of him that wonders why _she_ hadn't been the one to tell him herself, and he thinks that _this (relaying the message through Fred Andrews)_ had been shittier than perhaps just leaving a note or sending him a text, but he knows her, but he knows how intricate her mind is and that despite knowing her for twenty two out of his twenty five years, he's never really quite understood how she operates.

He purses his lips for a brief second and reminds himself to breathe...it's no big deal. He looks up at Fred and smiles—one that doesn't reach his eyes, and so obviously forced, it's hard to believe he's fooling anyone with it. "That's good for her, I guess," he murmurs with the sincerity he doesn't feel. It doesn't seem to appease Fred who's looking at him as though he's grown two heads. "Tell her I got the message."

It's not a message...it's not _anything,_ really, but isn't always easier to be on the defensive at times like this?

"FP listen to me," Fred says as he shakes his head. "She's engaged, to be married."

The words are repeated as though he hadn't gotten them the first time, and FP swallows back his irritation. So she's getting married, so she's engaged, what can he do about that? He isn't likely to stop her. Apart from her decidedly _not_ listening to any of his opinions, it's not really his place anymore—or _ever_ —to tell her anything.

"I figured that's what she's engaged to be," he says instead, unable to hide the acid in his words. What else is he supposed to say, anyway? What did Frederick Andrews want him to do? "There's not much that an engagement can lead to."

There is a look that cross Fred's face, but FP doesn't care to read it or decipher it. If Fred wants to feel sorry for him for _whatever_ reason, then he can, but FP isn't going to feel sorry for himself. Instead, he goes back to what he's been doing before Fred had barged into his trailer. He tinkers with his guitar and ignores the other man for the time being, knowing that he'll leave if FP ignores him long enough.

"You're making a mistake, _Forsythe,_ " Fred warns as he shakes his head. FP doesn't have to look up to know that his friend is stalking towards the door. There aren't many words exchanged either, as Fred's last words are enough to cover the gaps in between.

So he remains silent, doesn't say a word, doesn't even wince when the door closes and thuds a little louder than normal, for he knows, he knows. He knows he's making a mistake, but what is one more in a high pile of it anyway?

 **...**

Midnight had found FP Jones lounging in his battered old couch, staring into space and counting stars.

He couldn't sleep, has in fact tried to turn in early and go to bed in a more reasonable hour, but no matter how hard he'd tried, sleep has eluded him. He doesn't really know what's keeping him awake...which is a lie, if he's ever heard one. He knows why he's awake, knows why he couldn't bring his mind to rest no matter how exhausted he already is.

It's because of _her._ It always has been her, and though he doesn't want to admit it, today's revelations had been the primary reason he's still wide awake and unable to find peace and quiet in slumber. It's stupid...so stupid. She probably isn't thinking about it, or _him_ , and he knows it. Why should she even lose sleep over it when she can't even come to see him face to face and tell him?

And he'd thought that for the better part of the past two decades, they'd formed a sort of tenuous friendship. He'd thought it real, too, no matter how volatile their friendship had been. There had been many a time that she'd be found within his company, may it be here in his trailer or when he's playing with his band in the Whyte Wyrm. She had been his friend, she'd said so, and through everything they've been through, they had remained friends.

She'd been there when no one else had been, and it hurts now that she couldn't even trust him enough to let him know that she's going to get married.

"Damn it," FP curses loudly as he gets up from the couch and pads to the kitchen. It's not a big leap from the living room to the kitchen, in fact, there is hardly any division there, and he takes it in two long strides. When he reaches the fridge, he takes out a bottle of beer and looks at it in disdain, wishing he had something stronger to drown his sorrows in.

If he's honest with himself, he knows it's **not** her not telling him that she's getting married that bothers him the most. It's the fact that she's getting married at all.

He'd be a fool to think that she wouldn't, after all, why shouldn't she? She's gorgeous, and smart, and hot as blazes. She's perfect, despite on the occasion that she becomes a stick in the mud, but even then, she finds a way to redeem herself, and despite it all, he cannot help but admire how strong and fiercely loyal she is to the people she loves.

So why, why had he thought for a second that no one would take notice?

He'd been foolish, so foolish, and now she's about to get hitched.

" _Damn,"_ he curses again before takes a swig of the beer. The taste is stale but the cold is a blessed relief and the alcohol does help. It relaxes him in a way that rationality doesn't, and though he's been trying very hard to curb his thirst for alcohol at her insistence ( _Warden Smith,_ he'd teased her then when she'd laid on him and his increasingly alarming drinking habits), he cannot help but enjoy the way the alcohol flows from his tongue down his throat, through his every vein.

He resolves to get very drunk and pass out, at that very moment, if it helps him forget the ache that's settled in his chest since Fred had dropped the bomb on him.

And he'd been very well on his way to becoming drunk when, at half past two, he hears the distinct sound of knocking on his door. He ignores it, thinking it's a trick played by his almost drunken state of mind, but he hears it once more, and he can no longer say he's just drunk and it's a trick. Anyway, he's not even _that_ drunk for him to not realize that it's real.

He tries to rack his brain for anyone who might be waiting for him on the other side of the door, but he comes up with none. Tall boy had told him that he'll be leaving town for two days, and Fred's unlikely to come knocking on his door at two in the morning. He's not expecting anyone else, either, and wouldn't bother entertaining in his state.

Grunting, he makes his way to the door and it two quick strides, he pulls it open with more force than is necessary. He'd planned to lay the fear of god into the person on the other side, making sure they never come knocking at this time of this night (he is known for his temper, after all, and there are times when that kind of reputation is put to good use. He falls short and words gets stuck and his tongue becomes glued to the roof of his mouth when he sees the person on the other side.

Well, this, he hadn't really expected.

"Alice?" he says softly, and his heart beats hard against his chest at the sight of the very woman who'd broken his heart with one word: _engaged._


End file.
